


I Hate You

by aliciajohns



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, but i think its cute, i watched hamlet at elsinore and im screaming, they're not in a relationship but they might as well be, this is so self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24995692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciajohns/pseuds/aliciajohns
Summary: Horatio shows up to Elsinore and, seeing that Hamlet looks decidedly worse the wear for his stay so far, takes matters into his own hands...literally. (Basically canon compliant)
Relationships: Hamlet/Horatio (Hamlet)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	I Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should apologise  
> Also this isn't supposed to be like. good literature so don't comment saying how much it sucks lmao I literally wrote this at 1 am while crying

Hamlet stared joyfully at the blonde, curly haired man who had just entered the room and hailed him. “Horatio!” he exclaimed, rushing over and standing on tiptoe to hug him. 

“It’s good to see you, my lord,” his gentle friend replied.

“What make you from Wittenberg?”

“I had a truant disposition.”

Hamlet shook his head, clasping Horatio’s shoulders and smiling up at him. “I know that’s not true. You came for my mother’s wedding, I’m sure.”

“No, for your father’s funeral.” Horatio scrutinized Hamlet’s face; his friend looked pale, and had dark shadows beneath his eyes and frown lines on his forehead that had not been present when he left Wittenberg. “Are you well, my lord?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You are low in spirits. I wish I could hear your laughter again.”

Hamlet released Horatio’s arms and shrugged. “I don’t feel very much like laughing these days, Horatio. But now you are here, things will be much better.”

With a smile, Horatio said, “Don’t you remember how much it makes you laugh when I touch you just here?” He began to poke and prod at Hamlet’s ribcage, hitting sensitive spots that made him gasp and double over.

“Stop it!” yelped Hamlet, giggles threatening to spill from his lips. He whirled around and tried to get away, but immediately Horatio’s arm was across his stomach, holding him there while his fingers kept digging into his ribs. Hamlet writhed in his grip, unable to keep still for a second.

Horatio’s hands slipped down to his waist and gave a sudden firm squeeze. Hamlet jumped and squealed, bursting into high pitched laughter as Horatio kept on clawing at his horribly ticklish sides. For once he regretted never going with Horatio when he worked out, because he was so damn strong and Hamlet was too small and weak to escape; all he could do was dance around like a madman, trying to evade the torturous touches, while shrieking at the top of his voice. 

Horatio, as always, was greatly amused by his friend’s dramatic reaction to being tickled. He had discovered this in their first week of sharing university lodgings and thought it was hilarious; Hamlet had made him promise not to tell anyone. As long as one of his servants or relatives didn’t walk in right now, the prince’s secret would still be safe.

Without warning, he swept Hamlet off his feet and into his arms, and carried him like a bride to the nearby sofa. Hamlet kicked and struggled. “Horatio! Put me down right now!” he demanded indignantly.

Horatio laid him on the sofa and pinned him there. “It’s nice to know the sweet Prince of Denmark can still laugh so much,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’d like to hear a little more.” He hovered his hands over Hamlet’s stomach and Hamlet, thinking he was about to tickle him there, raised his arms to try and stop him. As fast as lightning, Horatio’s hands then shot up to his armpits, scratching lightly at the warm hollows. Hamlet squeezed his arms to his sides, which only trapped Horatio’s hands there, and squealed loudly. 

“Horatio! Stop it! You know I hate being tickled!” cried Hamlet.

“That’s a shame, because I love doing it.” Horatio knew he was being evil, but he swore he would stop soon and it was so damn cute to see Hamlet so happy, even if it was being forced on him. The prince’s pallor had gone, his laughter instead producing a pink blush across his cheeks. 

After tickling his armpits a little more, Horatio’s hands jumped up to his neck, his fingers fluttering over the soft skin. Hamlet scrunched up his shoulders, the feather light touches making him giggle and splutter like a little girl. His pleas for Horatio to stop came out as incoherent squeaks. 

When Horatio’s hands finally left his neck Hamlet lay back and sighed in relief, thinking it was over; then he felt one of his shoes being untied. “Horatio! Come on, that’s enough! You’re being silly!”

Hamlet’s wide, tear-filled eyes almost made Horatio feel bad…almost. “I’ll only do it for a minute,” he promised, as he slid Hamlet’s shoe off and clasped his ankle, pulling the socked foot onto his lap. Hamlet’s feet were terribly ticklish and Horatio had received many black eyes and bruised noses over the years for touching them when Hamlet didn’t expect it; but now his fingers were wrapped firmly around his ankle and there was no risk of getting a foot to his face. He raised his free hand and scratched at the sole with all four fingers. Hamlet’s foot jerked so heavily Horatio almost let go of it, but he tightened his grip and pulled it back.

Hamlet screamed, and a string of incomprehensible threats poured from his mouth. Nobody had ever held his feet still and tickled him before, and he felt that he couldn’t stand another second of it. Horatio raked his fingers up and down the captive foot, even at the sides and under his toes, making Hamlet cackle and shriek with hysterical laughter. His foot twitched and curled in Horatio’s grasp as if it had a life of its own, which in a way it did, for Hamlet couldn’t possibly control his wild movements; hence he always insisted that any injuries inflicted on somebody who tickled him were not his fault.

At last Horatio stopped and released his friend; getting up, he felt a tiny bit guilty as Hamlet lay still, worn out, but it had been worth it. He walked to the end of the sofa and sat down, pulling Hamlet’s head into his lap and gently running his fingers through his dark hair. 

Hamlet gazed up at him, his face pink and wet with tears. “I wish you’d stayed in Wittenberg.”

“No, you don’t. A good laugh will have done you good.”

“I could have done quite happily without being tickled half to death, thanks.”

Horatio laughed and cupped Hamlet’s face with one hand, wiping his remaining tears of mirth away with his thumb. Hamlet would forgive him later; he always did.


End file.
